WitchChild
by Min Daae
Summary: Written for Yuletide 2009. Jaenelle, Karla, and Daemon attempt to go shopping for baby clothes. Karla is playful, Jaenelle is bouncy, and Daemon is...Daemon.


Jaenelle moaned slightly. "Why did I volunteer for this?"

"I didn't think you really 'volunteered,'" proposed the ice-haired witch across from her. "But if I had to guess I'd say because you're a lunatic." Jaenelle threw a playful punch in her friend's direction, which Karla dodged with ease. The carriage bumped and Jaenelle winced, just a little.

"I don't know how Kalush put up with this."

"Me neither. You should have dragged _her _along, she'd be more use than me." Karla wrinkled her nose. "Baby clothes, Jaenelle? That's not…what I do. I am dangerous and imposing. I am Karla. Kiss kiss."

"No," Jaenelle said flatly. "And I told you, Daemon will be there too. You can complain at each other if you really want to. _I _think it might be fun, and at least you don't waddle around like some kind of waterfowl."

"What do you have against waterfowl? And no, I just walk like an old woman." Karla grimaced, but Jaenelle made a noise of protest.

"It's not that bad!"

"Considering I could be dead, I suppose not." Karla's tone was slightly acidic, and Jaenelle fell awkwardly silent, until the carriage jolted again. "Sorry," she said, at the same moment that Karla muttered, "I guess that was probably uncalled for."

It was Jaenelle's turn to make a face. "I'd give you a hug, but this is in the way." Jaenelle gestured at her round, pregnant belly, which largely had the effect of making her look even smaller than she was. "This makes _everything _awkward."

"Don't tell me too much, please. If I can avoid an excess of information about your daily needs I will be quite relieved."

"You are such a little bitch."

"Yes," said Karla, looking unaccountably proud of herself. "I know," and they both laughed as the carriage pulled to a halt.

"I can't wait until I can use Craft again," Jaenelle complained. "It seems like I can't do anything, and everyone tries to do it for me, and I can still do it myself it just takes a little longer-"

"If you keep on like that, I'll be forced to carry you. You're holding up the line." Jaenelle hopped with a small squeak and half apologized before she realized that no one was there and whacked Karla upside the head.

"Stop that. Are you preying on my disability?"

"Who is preying on whose disability?" Daemon's voice was silky soft as always, although his eyes were a bit more dangerous than usual, looking at Karla. Jaenelle blinked once, surprised.

"Don't do that," she said, peevishly, after a moment. "She's _Karla, _Daemon. And I'm _fine._"

"You sound annoyed," he said, frowning.

"Of course I'm annoyed. I feel fat and ungainly and awkward. You'd be annoyed too. Am I going to have to ask you?"

"I hope you've been resting. Karla, has she been resting? And eating well, and-"

"That's a Warlord Prince for you," Karla said philosophically. "One minute he'll be looking to bite your head off, and the next he'll be asking you for help. Typical, typical. If I ever choose a Consort it'll be someone decent and level-headed, which rules you out, Daemon, don't get hopeful." For her efforts, Karla received a scathing look from Daemon.

"The point of going somewhere with a _witch _was to get away from fussing boyos!" Jaenelle threw her hands into the air, seeming to be ignoring Karla altogether. "I get back and you don't give me even a _minute _without fussing. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! Now, _both of you_,we are going to get _clothes._"

And with that, Jaenelle marched stridently forward into the shop. Or rather, waddled in a stately manner. Daemon and Karla trailed after her, trading precisely one glance and no more, nearly running into their Queen in the process.

Jaenelle looked uncertain. "There's so _much,_" she said, faintly enough that Daemon growled softly and moved closer protectively, and Karla hovered a little more, still limping.

The shelves were overflowing with brightly colored and patterned clothes in miniature, more than Jaenelle could imagine existing. Certainly more variety than she'd ever been able to find in her own clothes.

"Why am I here? Remind me why I'm here. I'm not supposed to be here." Karla sounded a little faint as well. "This is _not _the way I wanted to spend my afternoon." Jaenelle, however, seemed to be recovering, and pulled away from Daemon to waddle to a nearby shelf, where she pulled out a dark nightgown, colored black at first sight, but as she turned it over in her hands, patterns shimmered over the fake, fur-like material.

"Oh – look at this, Daemon! Why don't they make clothes like this for _me?_"

Daemon made a sound suspiciously like a laugh, sharply cut off when his wife glared at him. Karla's mouth twitched. "Maybe you could make one. Couldn't be that hard," she said.

"Don't encourage her," said Daemon quickly as Jaenelle's face lit up. "Last time she tried sewing I thought she'd destroy a room; she was so frustrated."

"You can_not _talk about me like I'm not here," Jaenelle said with a baleful glare, and moved a couple shelves over. "Come on, Daemon. I want to know what you like."

Daemon slipped his hands in his pockets. "As long as it isn't polka-dots, I'll be fine."

"Maybe we should ask," suggested Karla, "What to get a baby who will likely be the scariest witch the three Realms have ever known. I think the proprietor is hiding. Kiss kiss?" She asked, peering around the racks, and indeed, the counter was markedly vacant.

"Hold this," said Jaenelle, pulling down a stack of baby garments for one on the bottom, splashed in bright patterns. "Do you think it's too loud?"

"Loud? It's deafening. It'll be perfect. I vote Daemon holds the purchases," Karla said, before Daemon could open his mouth to protest.

Shooting her a glare, Daemon said with some annoyance, "I would have _offered,_" to which Karla stuck her tongue out and flounced across the shop. Jaenelle draped the chosen garment over her arm and rolled her eyes.

"I can't take you anywhere where there are grown-ups."

Daemon did not look amused, although he brightened when Jaenelle held up a miniature black gown. "Wouldn't this be precious for Winsol?"

"Now _that _has class," Daemon said approvingly.

**

The search went on. Daemon seemed to prefer more formal attire that Jaenelle deemed impractical, while Jaenelle preferred muted shades and understated styles that Daemon didn't approve of. Karla, meanwhile, seemed to be seeking out the loudest patterns possible, though her snowflake-patterned pajama suggestion was a hit. Jaenelle seemed to be growing increasingly more excited with every garment selected, almost fluttering with delight, hardly seeming conscious of her previous awkwardness and discomfort.

"You should get her pregnant more often," Karla murmured, to which Daemon shot her a nasty look.

"I rather miss having her to myself, I'm afraid. I am, after all, a selfish bastard."

"First and foremost," Karla agreed cheerfully, and grinned. Daemon shook his head slightly, and Jaenelle looked back at them, still moving.

"What are you two going on about? I hope you're not - Oh!" Daemon and Karla both hopped, at once.

"What is it?" Karla's question made it out first, though likely they were the same, and the shopkeeper, tentatively emerging from the back room, promptly vanished again at the look on Daemon's face. Jaenelle pressed a hand to her belly, seeming shocked.

"That," she said, slowly, "Is a very strange feeling," and then laughed, and pulled Daemon's hand to touch where her own had been laying. "She's kicking. Wait…" She twitched again, and Daemon's eyes widened, slightly, then softened, the color of melted butter never or seldom seen in his eyes, but more often in Lucivar's.

"Wait, I want to," Karla started to demand, but Jaenelle was already pulling her over, laughing, and beaming as though she'd never been happier. Karla jumped away when she felt movement under her hand, seeming more alarmed than pleased.

"Mother Night! Doesn't that _hurt?_"

"No – it just feels strange – there, she's done again."

"Why do you say 'she?'" Daemon asked. "Do you know?"

"No," said Jaenelle, with a small smile. "I just have a feeling." She paused, just a moment, and then grinned, suddenly, and seized Daemon's hand and then Karla's. "Oh – oh! I need to tell Marian, and Lucivar- come –"

"The clothes," Daemon started to protest, trying to stop, but Jaenelle yelled over her shoulder at the still invisible proprietor, "I'll be back to pay for them!" and vanished the whole pile. Her momentum was already too great to fight.

And the look on Marian's face, and _Lucivar's, _was well worth the time.


End file.
